


Match Game

by Rachael Sabotini (wickedwords)



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2004-04-29
Updated: 2004-04-29
Packaged: 2018-02-18 08:49:29
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 700
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2342408
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/wickedwords/pseuds/Rachael%20Sabotini
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Ron's imprisonment feels like it will never end.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Match Game

**Author's Note:**

  * For [isiscolo (Isis)](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Isis/gifts).



> Thanks to LAT for the Isn't It Iconic? Challenge. This story is for isis, lj=isiscolo, and I hope she likes it. Many thanks to elynross for doing the beta for me. I'm afraid there was no brit checker for this. All mistakes are my own.

Ron felt the summoning. He couldn't see anything -- the curses left him blind, deaf, and dumb -- but the deep throb worked up through the ground, through the iron bars of his cage, and deep into his spine. He might have screamed as it twisted into him, but he was never sure. He could feel the tears on his face, so he knew he was crying. The darkness and pain felt eternal.

  
<<<>>>

  
Wizard light helped them find the keystone, reflecting off the snake carved into it. No one wanted to touch it, but Harry knew they had no choice. He pressed in and focused, thinking of Ron and Ginny and everyone else who had been taken.

He spoke the words of opening with all the force of his will behind them. He could feel the rock burn with anger under his hands, felt it searing into his flesh. Harry gritted his teeth and held his position. The stone felt like it was melting, and his hand did, too.

"Harry, you got it," Neville yelled above a screeching wind that had arisen from no where. "I think the stone moved."

  
<<<>>>

  
No sound. No sense of presence. Ron cracked open his eyes, but there was nothing to see, no light anywhere. A breeze ruffled his hair, so he knew there was air, but he couldn't feel anything else.

He thought about it. He hadn't felt a breeze before, and surely he would have noticed. It's not like he had anything else to think about, other than what he should have done when the death eaters apparated to the Burrow--

But he'd promised himself he wasn't going to think about that. He shifted around to sit up and banged his head on the ceiling. Every time they brought him back it was as if he'd forgotten how small his cage was.

"Hey, is anyone out there?" Ron yelled, or thought he yelled. "Let me out of here." He could feel the grating now, even if he couldn't see it, biting into his hands.

He felt the cage open and jumped for whoever was out there; there was always the chance he could escape. Hands grabbed him, and then he felt a tingling running up his arms, neck, and ears.

"Hold still," Harry muttered. "The counter-curse won't work if it isn't placed just right."

Gasping, Ron tried to hold still, and soon he could see some light. He blinked, and blinked, and blinked again, until Harry finally came into focus.

"All right?" Harry asked anxiously.

"Merlin, but it's good to see you." He would have hugged Harry if he could, but even with the healing spells, he still felt weak. "Hermione? Ginny? You found them, right?"

"Hermione's safe. Tonks apparated with her to Hospital, but she thought she'd pull through okay. And Ginny's the one who told us what happened. She found a way to escape."

Relief flooded through him as Neville called out, "Harry, you need to come see this." Neville nodded at Ron. "You, too." He led them out of the storage room and into a rough hewn passageway that led under the lake.

"My gran had a brilliant idea when I was little to make a plaster cast of my hands for my parents. Scared them both half to death with it."

Harry raised an eyebrow at Ron. Whatever Neville had seen had scared him, and after everything he'd been through, he didn't scare easy anymore.

The farther they walked, the more Neville nattered, his voice rising in pitch and volume. "She had me paint 'em, and the colors were pretty dull once they dried. Dull red handprints--"

They entered a large cavern that Ron had never seen, but knew instantly the moment they stepped inside.

"--the color of dried blood."

Ron couldn't stop staring, his feet dragging him slowly over the floor of the cave to the wall opposite the entrance. He put his hands out, matching his palms to the first set he saw, then the next, and the next. He couldn't count the number of hands that had been pressed against the wall, and around the cavern. He didn't want to know.

Not even when he found his match.


End file.
